Kialan
Davey stepped forward, carrying a worn, leather-bound book and a shallow bowl of water. He placed them gently on the pulpit. A reverent silence fell over the gathering.
Raphael—Liam's father—approached. With slow, ceremonial grace, he dipped his hands into the bowl, washed them, then lifted the book with both hands. As he opened it, a faint shimmer ran across the pages—subtle, almost imperceptible.
Everyone stood straighter, hands folding neatly behind their backs.
My mother, Cosmos's father, and Gowin stepped forward, forming a half-circle around Raphael. Their heads bowed in quiet reverence. Liam, Cosmos, and I followed, standing just behind them. We bowed our heads, too.
I stole a glance at Cosmos. There was a surprising stillness about him. Calm, almost serene. It struck me. Why now? Just days ago, he'd been full of rage and fury. Maybe—just maybe—this meant something to him too. Maybe peace really is what everyone wants in the end.
I turned slightly toward Liam. Still and silent as ever. Focused. Composed. It was as though he were waiting for something greater than all of us.
Then—it came.
A voice, deep and thunderous, filled the air. It didn't come from Raphael's mouth. It wasn't his voice. It wasn't anyone's. Yet, it rose as if summoned from the opened book itself, rippling outward and echoing through our bones.
Everyone dropped to their knees.
The voice spoke:
---
> "A million years ago, they came.
From a dying world, long forgotten, an alien race sought refuge on Earth.
They did not arrive as conquerors, but as seekers—desperate to survive.
They mated with humans, and from their union came children of wonder:
Beings of magic, strength, and power beyond human grasp.
At first, the humans welcomed them—awed, even grateful.
But fear is a slow poison.
Envy grew, and a single tragedy was all it took to turn admiration into suspicion.
Accused. Hunted. Hated.
Humanity demanded they leave the world they now called home.
War erupted.
Earth became a battlefield.
Only the strongest and most cunning endured.
Amid the chaos, three friends—bound by loyalty and love—made a pact to end the war.
The first, Elarion of the Ilyushin, wielded illusion.
He deceived the humans into believing the danger had passed,
While quietly guiding the gifted away.
The second, Therak of the Hustharic, bore the burden of bloodshed.
He hunted those who resisted the illusion—human and gifted alike—
And ended the threats that could reignite war.
The third, Mirelle of the Valenheart, walked among the broken.
She healed the wounded, comforted the terrified,
And mended hearts too damaged to trust again.
Together, they silenced the war.
And with their joined blood,
They sealed the Earth from all otherworldly forces.
Then—they vanished."
---
The voice paused. A hush followed.
Then it spoke again:
---
> "But peace is fragile.
Not long after, the humans turned on one another.
War again.
This time, human against human.
The three returned—risking exposure once more.
Again, they chose to help.
When the dust settled, they knew hiding could no longer serve either world.
To protect both, they formed an alliance with trusted human leaders.
The Court was born.
Its purpose:
To keep the gifted unseen—
But never uninvolved.
Thus began the tradition.
The three bloodlines—
Ilyushin: Masters of illusion.
Hustharic: Wielders of strength.
Valenheart: Bearers of healing—
Would renew their bond every year.
Not with words alone,
But by joining their energy:
A force forged through unity,
Forged through purpose."
---
As the final syllable rang out, Raphael gently closed the book.
Our parents—my mother, Gowin, and Cosmos's father—raised their heads and spoke as one:
---
> "Now, it is our turn to safeguard and uphold it."
---
We rose together.
Following Raphael's lead, we moved into a seated circle, cross-legged and silent. We each reached inward, summoning the core of our energy.
It wasn't easy.
At first, the energies clashed—offbeat, unstable. Chaos beneath the surface. But we pressed on. Bit by bit, we adjusted. Synchronized. Aligned.
Then it happened.
We synced.
A wave of warmth surged through the circle. It pulsed like breath—deep, rhythmic, alive. For a moment, we were not six individuals.
We were one.
Our parents' voices rose again, unified and strong:
---
> "Ours is to protect the weak from the strong,
To defend the sick from suffering,
To banish fear from the human heart."
---
They paused.
Then, as if sealing a vow written across generations:
---
> "Now, it is our turn…
to safeguard and uphold what our elders fought for."
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TO BE CONTINUED...
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